more than words
by faeriesqueen
Summary: "Are you always so cynical?" he wondered. "Are you always so romantic?" she snorted back.


Nikolai thought he'd gotten himself drunk to death the moment the girl on the small stage started singing with the voice of an angel, twirling the microphone's wire around her wrist and playing with it as she walked up and down, up and down, her eyes closed and her movements graceful, elegant, _beautiful_.  
"May I have a glass of water?" he asked the woman behind the counter without being able of moving his gaze from the girl, amazed. The woman laughed at the sight and served Nikolai, shaking her head: _how many times __had __her Zoya caught the eyes of a complete stranger, __bewitching them before completely crushing them under her heels?_ The boy gawking in front of her didn't seem any different from all of them – good looking, surely, but still hopeless.  
"Don't get any ideas, blondie, she's way out of your reach," Liliyana – that was the woman's name – said gently, placing the glass of water in front of him. "Well, maybe not completely out of it, but she'll break your heart," she added smiling when he turned in her direction with a frown narrowing his brows – _with a face like his, he probably wasn't used to being rejected._  
"Is she now?" Nikolai wondered in a murmur, focusing once more on the singer: her dark, long hair fell behind her shoulders in waves, she wore a plain blue shirt and tight clear jeans covered from the knee and down by high black boots; he focused on her face next and noticed how taken by the song she was: eyes closed, the eyelids trembling slightly, full lips close to the microphone as she swung from one side to the other, her voice sweet like honey. _Beautiful_, Nikolai thought again, trying not to get distracted by the scoff the woman behind the counter made at his bewildered expression. He probably looked like a fool, but did he care?

When Zoya finished her last Janis Joplin's piece she bowed and accepted light-hearted the few, warm claps that the small crowd offered her. She jumped off stage as the pub's owner greeted her – _our wonderful Zoya_ – and invited the pianist – _who will delight us for the rest of the night_ – to go up. She almost climbed on the counter, pushing her upper body all the way over it to grab a bottle of water with a _Z_ wrote on it when her aunt reached her.  
"You impressed another one tonight," the woman told her with a grin, making Zoya roll her eyes as she drank. "Quite good looking if you ask me, possibly drunk but not of the loud or inappropriate kind," she added, pointing at Nikolai with her chin. He had his eyes down on the phone, a frown twisting his traits and an empty glass next to him. At his sight, Zoya almost choked on her water and quickly gazed away when he looked up.  
"Don't you know your own house?" Zoya growled at her aunt, making her tilt her head sideways. "There's like a giant board with his face on it _right_ in front of my window, - he's a model or something," she explained in a nervous sigh at her mute question. Liliyana parted her lips, ready to say something, when she realized the boy had reached them.  
"Haven't we already met?" he asked in Zoya's direction and, pressing her lips together, Liliyana walked away before Zoya's laugh even started – that kind of laugh that made people around think Nikolai had just said the most hilarious thing ever.  
"Is that seriously how you intend to hit on me?" she questioned him amused, arching her brow and moving her gaze on him. Liliyana was right, he _was_ good looking. And very much probably drunk.  
"Maybe?" he shrugged, sitting next to her and crossing his arms on top of the counter, keeping his torso twisted in her direction. "Or maybe I expected an answer like this and have everything planned," he added immediately after, grinning and causing the girl to laugh again.  
"Tell you what," she started, spinning on here seat and placing her elbows on her thighs. "You prove me you've planned everything and I might buy you a drink," she offered, cocking her head to the side. He grinned and leaned forward, emulating her position with a nod.  
"I come here with a terrible pickup line, you give me that kind of annoyed reply and we end up having this conversation that makes you realize I'm actually _really_ smart, which leads to another, softer, more pleasant conversation – and some drinks, since you mentioned – so we get to know each other, I make you laugh a little more and we wait for the pub to close," he explained slowly, waving his hands around to accompany his words without moving his gaze from hers, not even once. Her eyes were a deep, jewel-like blue that resembled the one of her shirt, but shining, brighter, and held a spark of amusement as Nikolai kept talking.  
"And then?" she questioned when he didn't say anything else. He shrugged again, straightening his back and placing his hands on his knees.  
"Then it's up to you," he said simply, and the girl cocked her head to the side.  
"So you haven't planned everything," she pointed out, stretching her legs before leaning on the counter, placing her chin on her hand.  
"I planned on leaving the choice to you," he said immediately, like he was actually expecting her reply. Her lips parted slightly and, she had to admit, she was impressed – he clearly noticed, because a mischievous grin painted on his lips and he leaned in her direction again. "Have I proved myself, miss Zoya?" he murmured, meeting her eyes once again. She remained silent for a few moments, studying him carefully, then lifted her hand to call her aunt.  
"Can we have two drinks, please?"

Liliyana hadn't heard Zoya laugh so much in a long time. Even when she was with her friends she usually was composed and calm: that boy had brought up her childish side, the one she'd buried deeply inside her. They'd been talking for three hours, barely drinking and getting every minute closer; she had one leg on his seat, slightly bent, causing her knee to touch his as his fingers wandered first on the wood of the counter as he explained something, his eyes bright and a wide smile on his face, then on her leg, barely touching it.  
"It was her – Alina – who suggested me the terrible pickup line," he was saying with a laugh. "She was surely tired, I've never heard something like that leave her lips in all these years," he shook his head and leaned slightly back, taking his glass to bring it to his lips. Zoya wrinkled her nose and brought one hand to her hair, pushing it back and was about to reply when a movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention: her aunt was tapping her wrist, pointing at a non-existent watch, before swirling it around almost to embrace the whole space, and the girl simply nodded back.  
"You know, you were right," Zoya said with a little smile, sliding her leg off his seat and slightly stretching her back. Nikolai lowered the glass and frowned for a moment.  
"I'm usually right, yes, but about what?" he questioned, making her roll her eyes amused: Nikolai Lantsov had the same arrogant confidence as her, but not even once did he pointed that out. It was, usually, the first thing everyone noticed in her – men especially: too arrogant, too stubborn, _why aren't you softer_? It drove her insane.  
"The pub is closing," she pointed, hopping off her seat and lifting her arms up for a moment. Nikolai looked around, then gazed at Zoya again, waiting. She grinned, enjoying the expectancy on his face he probably didn't know was there. "My place is nearby," she said after a while, and a huge smile cracked on his lips before he got up and reached her.

When they entered the apartment, Zoya threw the keys and got rid of her jacket so quickly the boy had a hard time keeping up. She moved with confidence from one room to the other, now with both her boots, now with just one, now bare-foot, almost tip-toeing as she closed a door, opened another, moved a tool from one place to another.  
"Can I get you anything?" she asked to an almost lost Nikolai who followed her with his eyes still at the entrance, his coat on and his hands buried in the pockets.  
"Water, I don't want a hangover," he murmured when she stopped, cocking her head and waiting for an answer. Her lips bent in an amused smile and, as he shrugged off his top layer she disappeared in the kitchen. It all felt _right_ – that was the only way Nikolai could've described the feeling of reaching the girl and taking the glass from her hands, watching as she murmured to herself while fixing something on the counters and then marching with the boy at her side towards what he knew was her room. She didn't have to say anything to him, he simply followed her and then froze on the entrance, looking outside the window where his own face greeted him. Zoya was grabbing the clothes from the pavement when she noticed the boy hadn't moved an inch and was looking out of the window agape.  
"Oh, that – maybe I should've told you," she closed one eye and bit her lip before grinning.  
"Isn't it awkward to you? It is to me," he murmured and she laughed at him, shaking her head before hopping to the window and drawing the curtains.  
"Problem solved," she announced, clapping and turning in his direction. He now watched her, and was about to approach when a glint caught his eye and made him notice the guitar on the bed, abandoned as if the girl had gotten up and left in a rush, forgetting it there. Zoya frowned at his stillness before seeing the guitar. "That's not usually her place," she joked, but he didn't laugh, weighting his next words.  
"Can I hear something?" he asked her, and found her looking at him with both curiosity and confusion.  
"You heard me singing and talking all night, aren't you tired?" she wondered with a little laugh before taking the instrument and sitting on the edge of the bed. He smiled – truly smiled, a genuine happy and sincere smile – and shook his head, taking place on the opposite side of the bed.  
"Not in the slightest," he admitted, and Zoya couldn't help but smile too and – maybe it was the alcohol thinking for her, even though she didn't feel drunk – felt her heart rush slightly. Again, every single person she met thought she was too loud, talked too much: and yet here he was, willing to hear more of her voice. She sighed, trying to push the thought away, and strummed lightly, trying to find the right note for the song she wanted to sing – _more than words_ –, but he quickly stopped her waving his hand. "No, wait, I want to hear something of yours," he said, excitement brightening his features as she bent her head to the side.  
"What makes you think I have anything?" she wondered, and his smile lighted up the room immediately.  
"Because I've been listening to you for the past hours and know you have a lot to say, Nazyalensky," he replied simply and for a moment thought she might've blushed. Zoya took a deep breath in then, pushing her hair back and closing her eyes before bracing the guitar again and, as a little frown crossed her face, she started playing a soft melody.  
And she sang of loss, of decisions and hopes, of wanting something she couldn't get, of fear. She was singing of her, Nikolai knew, but somehow she was singing of him too, of _his_ love, the one _he_ couldn't have, of _his_ pain, of _his_ dreams. The words carried a weight that made him want to crawl to her, hold her, keep her close. Words no one had ever heard, because she'd never let anyone hear _that_ song: _why him?_ She wondered as her struggle came alive in the last, low note, ending the song.  
Zoya couldn't open her eyes at first, nor could she let go of the instrument that sat on her lap. She took a deep breath in before letting her eyelids flutter open, meeting immediately Nikolai's gaze. He was smiling, and his eyes were shimmering even more than before.  
"See? I was right again," he joked, making her laugh and look down. It was so rare for her to be embarrassed, for a moment she loathed him, but everything disappeared when he spoke again. "I really wish you could put that guitar away now, because I really want to kiss you," he murmured, and Zoya looked up again and couldn't help but smile. She got up, rested the instrument on the wall and quickly closed the door before feeling Nikolai's hands on her waists. He'd got up too, reaching for her and pulling her close. He was _much_ taller than her, and she intertwined her hands behind his head before getting on her tiptoes, nearing their mouths – but he didn't move, letting his eyes scan her face up close.  
"What?" she wondered in a whisper, as if someone else might hear them. He smiled, tightening his grip around her hips and pressing her body to his.  
"I just really want to remember this," he replied, slightly bending his head to the side. Zoya took another breath in, and the moment after she was kissing him, and he was kissing her back. Their lips met almost violently at first, and they parted once before getting closer again, softer this time, taking in every moment, breathing into it. They fell on the bed, her body on top of his, and their hands found each other for a moment before focusing on the other's clothes.  
His shirt, her shirt.  
His belt, her bra.  
His pants, her jeans.  
He, now on top of her, took his hands in her hair pushing it to the side to find the crook of her neck where he buried his face, kissing every inch of exposed skin as she shivered under his touch, longing for more. _More._

"Why were you there tonight?" Zoya wondered under her breath, her hand finding his as he moved to his side and looked at her with a frown. She noticed and sighed slightly, wetting her lips before pulling their hand towards her stomach, just so she could distractedly play with his fingers. "The pub – there are so many other places, why there, why alone?" she moved her head, shifting her gaze from the ceiling to his face. He was staring at her with his eyes half closed, and pushed is chin forward enough to press a kiss at the corner of her mouth.  
"I wanted to be by myself and drink myself to sleep," he admitted, rolling his wrist to get his fingers free and place it atop of her skin, tracing images slowly up and down her stomach, her ribs, her chest. "Why did the woman at the counter told me you were gonna break my heart?" he retorted, searching for her eyes in the dark. He saw her chewing at her bottom lip, and got closer to kiss her once more, delicately, just lips brushing against each other.  
"Because she knows me – I always do that," she murmured, rolling on her side. "I tend to push away everyone who gets too close, pretty rudely too, and they always say I broke their heart – but I'd never fooled anyone. Never told them I wanted a romance, something regular. I never asked their numbers, sometimes not even the names. It was just sex, and they didn't want understand it, so they blamed me," she closed her eyes and took a breath in. When was the last time she'd told so much about her to someone who wasn't Liliyana or Genya? For a moment she was afraid he might judge her, probably too harshly, but then his fingers brushed her cheek slowly and she looked at him again.  
"Is this just sex?" he asked, his voice toned down to a gentle whisper. Nikolai's hand travelled between her hair, on her neck and shoulders, on her back and hips, on her thigh and then up again, and she arched her body under his touch.  
"I don't know," she admitted after a few moments of silence interrupted only by their breaths, her sighs, their kisses. "I don't think so, but I don't want you to make any ideas," she added quickly, like she was afraid, and he smiled before rolling on his back.  
"No ideas – just know I'll still be here tomorrow morning when you wake up, and I'll have your number," he said, looking at the painted ceiling. Zoya frowned for a moment, remaining on her side before pointing her elbow in the mattress so she could lifter her torso and keep her head up to study him.  
"I hope you don't snore, then," she replied at last, and he suddenly started to laugh. "God, I wanna marry you," he whispered after a while, calming his breath down before it was Zoya's turn to burst into laughs, covering her face with both hands. "I'm serious! Why are you laughing?" he called, offended and amused at the same time: her laugh was contagious.  
"We just met!" protested the girl, rolling on her belly and getting closer to him. He had his head pressed onto a pillow, his hair spread like a golden aura around it, half of his face lit in the moonlight, the other covered by darkness; his eyes were half closed, but he opened them completely when her hair brushed against his bare shoulder, and he fixed his gaze into hers.  
"So what? You don't believe in love at first sight?" he questioned. _Yes,_ Zoya thought immediately, looking at him with her lips still bent in a smile.  
"No," she replied instead, lying for the first time that night, then moved to lay her head on his shoulder, breaking the eye contact. "Besides one doesn't have to be married to love, and doesn't have to love to be married," she mumbled as he wrapped his arm around her, playing with her hair again.  
"Are you always so cynical?" he wondered.  
"Are you always so romantic?" she snorted back.  
"I am indeed," was his answer, and she gave off another little laugh before pressing her lips on his chest, and they remained silent, because they'd already told each other so much.  
"Do you mind if I sleep here?" she whispered moments later against his skin, already drifting off, and Nikolai couldn't help but smile. He moved slightly just to take the blanket badly wrapped around their legs and pull it up around them.  
"Not at all," he murmured, but her shoulders were already following her slow, regular breath.

When Nikolai woke up, he was alone in the room: the daylight filtered from behind the curtains, and it took him a little while to remember where he was – enough to sit down and locate his clothes, or at least part of it. _Where was his shirt?_  
He got out of the room and followed the sound of pans and cups, along with a sweet smell that reminded him of _home_. He stepped into the kitchen, ready to meet Zoya, but found instead the woman from the pub dancing from one side of the room to the other – at least until she saw him.  
"Good morning," she said gingerly, taking an empty cup and placing it on the counter.  
"I thought – I'm gonna –" Nikolai babbled, pointing at the other rooms. _I can't deal with anything, I just woke up_, his mind protested. "I thought Zoya was here, I'm looking for my shirt, I'm gonna go," he managed to say, and the woman waved her hands dismissively.  
"You're not the first shirtless boy I see, blondie, just sit down – coffee?" she asked and, when Nikolai started nodding, she'd already filled the cup and handed it over to him. "I haven't seen Zoya in such a good mood for a long time, I think I might need to reconsider you," she said then, without actually focusing on him. He parted his lips to reply, still sleepy, but she turned to grab something and started talking again. "It appears you're not really out of her reach after all, and might actually be good for her," she declared, and Nikolai frowned.  
"Thanks?" he questioned dubiously, his head cocked to the side. He wanted to ask something more about Zoya, but the girl stormed into the kitchen and froze for a moment when she saw him.  
"You're up," she noted, still for a moment, then her eyes lingered on his naked torso and the marks she'd left on it and a smile cracked her face. "Morning," she got closer to him and handed a piece of cloth over. "I took it by accident, sorry," she grinned, and he realized it was his shirt.  
"Stealing my clothes already?" he asked amused, and she made a face at him, wrinkling her nose before stepping next to the woman and taking an already full cup of tea.  
"Morning aunt," she murmured, and Nikolai almost choked on his coffee, causing the two to look up in his direction. "Everything alright?" Zoya asked, and Liliyana tried not to laugh at him.  
"_Aunt?_" he sounded both confused and terrified, and his eyes drifted from Zoya to the woman and back to Zoya, who was now smiling.  
"I told you, she knows me," she shrugged, and Nikolai placed his cup on the counter, quickly sliding his shirt on – _her smell was all over it_.  
"I thought as a friend!" he protested, and it was Liliyana's turn to giggle, murmuring a _that too_ before clapping her hands.  
"I have work to do, you solve whatever you have to solve and stay safe," she announced, then her gaze focused on Nikolai, and the boy felt the sudden urge to back away. "I hope I'll see you soon," she greeted him before disappearing.  
"You haven't told me," he sighed as the door closed, and Zoya got closer to him.  
"You haven't asked," she pointed out, and he couldn't help but smile fondly and look down in her direction. She was smiling, _truly_ smiling, like when she was on stage, and Nikolai wanted to kiss her once more but, for some reason, held himself back. He took a deep breath in, bit his lip and then parted from the counter.  
"I think I have to go," he said softly, and Zoya's expression faltered for a few seconds – then she straightened her back and nodded, stiff. "I left something for you in your room," the boy added, taking a step in her direction, his voice low. He wanted so bad to reach for her, play with her hair once more, trace the lines of her face – _do it,_ Zoya thought, reading the tentativeness in his eyes; but when he didn't move, she took him by the hand and pulled him closer, immediately reaching up to meet his lips with hers. He remained startled at first, but his arms responded before he could think of anything truly, wrapping themselves around Zoya's body, pulling her up. They kissed, and kissed, and kissed one more time, but one of them broke the connection of their bodies and left them both breathless, their hands still on the other one. _Please, don't go,_ Zoya's eyes pleaded, but her words said otherwise.  
"It was nice meeting you," she murmured, her voice hoarse from the kisses. Nikolai smiled, and hoped it didn't look as unconvincing as he felt.  
"You too," he said, before pressing his lips against hers once more. "Bye," he whispered, letting go.

Once in her room again, Zoya looked around a little before seeing a paper folded and stuck behind the guitar's strings – she hadn't noticed it the first time she got up, was it already there? She sat on her bed still warm of their bodies and unfolded it slowly, like she was scared.  
_Zoya_, read the letter – the girl took a breath in, closing her eyes for a moment before starting to read.

_Zoya, though you may say we don't know each other I'd like to think otherwise. I'd like to think I'm one of the few people to know what you really like and think, some secrets like the fact that you're afraid of what others can think of your songs and some small things that seem unimportant, but represent you, like the fact that you sleep hugging a pillow – or me, which I have to say I prefer. And this whole thing – the letter, the sweet words, the fact that I wrote it in the middle of the night with you sleeping so peacefully next to me – might seem too much to you, and I'd understand if you felt overwhelmed and decided to simply ignore me, it wouldn't offend me nor strike my pride; just know you deserve it all and more, and you shouldn't think differently. You are a wonderfully strong person, Zoya, and you might be a heartbreaker, but know that you are not protecting yourself by shutting yourself off from the world, you are limiting yourself: the world – and I as well – would be honoured to have our hearts shattered by you. Don't restrain yourself out of fear, because you don't deserve it, and even if you make some mistakes you can always retrace your steps and fix it, because you have the strength for it._  
_P.S. here's something I hope you'd use – of course the choice is yours._

And then a number – _his_ number – was scrabbled on it. She looked at it for a few moments, maybe a few minutes, then she searched for her phone rapidly and, with shaking fingers that didn't belong to her, dialled the number. It rang once, twice, then a little _click_.  
"Nikolai?" Zoya called softly, a hopeful smile painted on her lips. "Are you busy today?"


End file.
